Learning to Love Again
by Hay Bails
Summary: He found her like that, curled in a pathetic ball on the ground. Dusted with dirt, painted in blood. Her normally pristine robes hung in tatters from her shaking shoulders. She did not look up to face him. "Please…" she said, soft and broken. "Please, professor…"
1. Chapter 1

He found her like that, curled in a pathetic ball on the ground. Dusted with dirt, painted in blood. Her normally pristine robes hung in tatters from her shaking shoulders. She did not look up to face him.

"Please…" she said, soft and broken. "Please, professor…"

* * *

I cast a quick glance around the corridor, making sure no one was nearby. Whoever had done this to her had taken their leave. It could not have been another student. Surely the so-called "brightest witch of her age" would have been able to hex any student who attacked her into next year.

"Please, professor…" she breathed, shaking with silent sobs.

I knelt in front of the girl, looking into her face.

"Miss Granger," I murmured. "Look at me." When she continued to cast her eyes downward, I placed a firm hand under her chin, lifting her head to face me. "I said look at me."

She choked back a sob, stammering, "I'm so so-sorry… I didn't… I d-didn't mean to disturb you, s-sir…"

"Miss Granger, I will not tolerate this from you," I stared into her eyes, which glistened with tears yet unshed. "I demand that you tell me what you mean by making all this racket outside my rooms at this ungodly hour."

She whimpered.

Was I being unfair? Perhaps. But in my years of teaching, I had learned quite a few lessons myself. Intimidation was a thousand times more effective than cajoling when it came to coaxing information from students.

"Professor, I-" she hiccupped "-I thought y-you could help."

"Obviously." I let the word roll off my tongue. "What is it I'm meant to be helping with, exactly?"

"I… well, I… I mean…"

"Out with it, girl."

"C-can we talk about this in… in private?" She cast her eyes down again, her face vying with the red scarf around her neck for color.

I stared, my lip curling in a small involuntary sneer.

"Must we?"

She nodded slowly.

"Fine." I stood, offering my hand. She looked at it in surprise. You would have thought I had offered her a live cobra from her reaction. "Miss Granger, if you please. The night wears thin."

Gingerly, she placed her fingers in mine. I rolled my eyes, moved my hand to grasp hers more firmly, and pulled her up to a standing position.

I immediately regretted it. I pulled in a sharp breath through my nostrils at the sight of her. The girl looked two steps away from death, and the sudden movement had not helped things in any way. Her entire torso was drenched in blood. Her wounds were visible through her shredded robes – she appeared to be completely naked under them. I imagined that the dreadful gashes along her ribs were from a blade of some sort, possibly a sword, but more likely a large knife. And her breasts… they were mottled with craters where it looked like someone had cut out – no, _bitten off_ – large chunks of skin.

"Hermione," I breathed subconsciously. "Who did this to you?"

She shook her head, and, sensing my gaze, tried to cover her breasts with her scarf. "Please…" she said again, softer than before. She shook with the effort of standing.

I placed a hand on her shoulder, supporting her as I led her back through the portrait's hole into my quarters. As gently as I could, I helped her down onto my dark green futon. 'Dark red now,' I thought morosely, before the rational side of my brain banished the thought.

"Miss Granger," I snapped, maybe more harshly than I should have. "Please… please tell me who did this to you."

She took a deep, shuddering breath and looked at me.  
"You p-promise not to tell anyone?"

I glared.

She looked down again. "S-sorry…"

"Miss Granger!"

She winced. "My f-father, all right? It… it was my father."

The tension was palpable. Her _father?_

"You let him take advantage of you this badly?" My voice was barely above a whisper. "Are you not a witch, girl?"

She drew in a sharp breath, hid her face in her hands, and began to sob again.

Well, _that_ was a nerve I hadn't been aiming at.

I paused for a moment, and awkwardly moved a hand to pet her back gently. "There. There," I said, adding, "There," for good measure. I had never been much good at comfort.

She sobbed for a moment more, still bleeding more than I was comfortable with. I reached a hand into my sleeve, and pulled out my wand. "I'm going to heal you now," I said softly. "Be still."

She nodded to show she understood. I pulled her hair behind her shoulders, and lifted her scarf from around her neck, placing it on the ground. I sat beside her on the futon. I placed a hand on her shoulder, hooking a finger under her robe, silently asking permission. She nodded again. I peeled the robe from her sticky, blood-soaked body as delicately as I could. She was still sobbing, though more quietly now.

I pointed my wand at the deepest of her wounds.

"Vulnera sanentur…. Vulnera sanentur… Vulnera sanentur…" The gashes healed as I ran my wand over them methodically, working my way up her torso. I hesitated slightly when I reached her breasts, but continued my healing chant. Her skin finished knitting itself back into shape, and her eyelids drooped as she sagged against the back of the futon.

"Not yet, you silly girl," I murmured as I saw her drifting into sleep. "My futon is filthy enough as it is." I moved my arm around her shoulders and helped her to stand again. The poor girl was still awfully weak from blood loss. I guided her into my bath, easing her down onto the floor of the walk-in shower.

White as a sheet, stark naked, and sitting in my shower… was a student. I sighed. If only Albus were here to see this… Her eyes still closed, she leaned her head back against the tiled wall. I looked down at my own attire: black but, I knew, flecked with her blood all the same. I sighed again. It couldn't be helped…

I slipped my outer robe off, then, wincing only a little, removed my shirt and shoes as well. I kept my pants. I'd be damned if any Gryffindor girl, helpless or not, was going to see my bare legs.

I stepped into the tiled square with her, turning the faucet to its warmest setting. I sat beside her, and gently maneuvered her until she was sitting more or less in my lap. She shivered as the water gradually warmed.

I let the water cascade through her hair, working my fingers through the thick locks, washing the blood away. The tiled floor turned to a nauseating rusty red. My fingers scrubbed, in what I hoped was a soothing fashion, smooth circles along her stomach, ridding her skin of the stain made by her father.

Once she was free of blood, I stood both of us up, and wordlessly conjured a towel from across the room, which I wrapped around her. Another wordless spell, and my pants and hair were dry as well. My hands on her shoulders, we made our way back to the futon. She all but collapsed onto the soft surface, which I surreptitiously scourgified, closed her eyes, and was out like a light.

I sighed and sat beside her, conjuring a blanket from my bedroom. I removed the wet towel as gently as I could, and, trying not to disturb her, I draped the blanket over her naked form instead. Seeing her there, sleeping, helpless… I could not leave her. Even I, Severus Snape, was not that heartless.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and summoned one more blanket. I covered myself in the light green material, leaned my head back against the futon – against the girl's shoulder – and closed my eyes. There would be enough time for questions tomorrow. For now… sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

A movement at my side, and I was up in a whirl, my wand drawn and pointed at the girl's throat. How dare she intrude upon… upon…

Hermione.

I sheathed my wand slowly, taking a deep breath, repeating to myself the mantra that I had every morning since the Dark Lord's defeat: "He is dead, Severus. You are alive. So live."

So live…

The girl's eyes contained no trace of the vibrant curiosity they had held for the past seven years. She had pressed herself against the back of the futon, farther away from me, in the most pathetic effort of self-preservation when I had pulled my wand on her, but that was all. Her eyes were devoid of the emotion I had seen the night before.

We each regarded the other silently for a few moments before I spoke.

"I apologize for lashing out at you," I inclined my head, my voice tinged with the slightest bit of regret. "Old habits die hard."

I stood, offering her my hand. She stared at it.

"Go on," I said gruffly. "Take it."

After a few seconds, she did. Her fingers were as cold as ice.

I pulled her up as gently as I could, not failing to notice that she tried to hide her body from me. She held onto her blanket with her other hand, attempting to conceal her breasts. I looked at the ceiling, affording her as much privacy as I could. No doubt, she had been violated more than any person deserved in the past twenty-four hours.

I led her fifteen steps into my bedroom – a part of me still raged at myself for letting a student anywhere near my quarters – and opened my wardrobe. I quickly rifled around for something, anything that would fit.

After a moment, I found what I was looking for. A long casual robe, black but greying at the edges. I proffered it to Hermione, who, as she had done when I had offered my hand, merely stared. The sheet hung limply in front of her chest.

"Miss Granger…?"

Merlin. She was in shock.

I clenched my hands into fists around the material of the robe. Her miserable excuse for a father would pay for-

A bloodcurdling scream flooded my brain.

"NO! Please, no! No more, please… please…"

I stared. She jumped back from me with a speed I hadn't thought she had possessed. The sheet fell to the floor. She had gone from catatonic to cringing in a matter of seconds, at… at what? The sight of my fists? I looked down at my hands, which were indeed curled into violent weapons.

Weapons which were not intended for her.

Taking a deep breath, I unclenched my hands. Vengeance would come later. Patience was something I had come to learn over the years.

"Miss Granger. I will not hurt you. I wish only to help."

She whimpered as I took a cautious step toward her, still proffering the robe.

"You yourself came to me for help last night."

Another step, which elicited a strangled cry from her throat.

"Miss Granger."

Another step, and a moan escaped her body.

"Miss… Hermione, please."

I knelt in front of her as she scuttled away from me, crawling along the wall on all fours.

"Hermione. Please," I said as soothingly as I could as I caught her, gently, by her ankle.

She screamed again at the contact, and began to lash out at me with her hands, clawing at my arms with her fingernails. I caught her left wrist, then moved my other hand from her ankle to her right wrist. Helpless in my grip, she began to sob, wriggling feebly.

Hoping that she would not attack me again, I moved my hands down her wrists until I was holding her fingers.

"Hermione," I breathed, as her first name seemed to have more of a calming effect on her. "Look at me."

She glanced at my face and her breath hitched.

I looked into her eyes for a moment as she began to calm down. I would not hurt her. I had to make sure she knew that.

To the entire student body at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I was viewed as a terrible man. A Death Eater. A murderer. The bat of the dungeons. It was a curse I could not rid myself of, and it was one that, frankly, I probably deserved. But Hermione Granger could not think of me in that way.

I would not allow it.

At Hogwarts, help is always given to those who ask for it. And… she had asked. I would fulfill my obligation to her as her professor.

As her breathing slowed back to normal, I let go of one of her hands and picked up the greying robe, all the while looking into her brown eyes. Slowly and carefully, I draped the fabric around her shoulders, pulling her hair out from under it.

She flinched as my fingers brushed the back of her neck.

"I will not hurt you," I murmured.

She looked at me fearfully, sniffling.

"I promise." My voice was almost a whisper as I subconsciously continued to stroke her hair, all the while looking into her eyes.

I couldn't possibly ask her to tell me what had happened to her. Not in this state.

But perhaps…

If I could keep eye contact long enough…

I muttered a silent "Legillimens," and felt myself step into the confines of her mind. I had to know… had to find out.

A mere three seconds later, I rushed back to reality, wanting to retch, to clean myself of the images in her mind. I wanted to throw something against the wall.

That _bastard._

I pulled Hermione's head close to my chest. She gave an alarmed gasp, but did not pull away. I closed my eyes, burying my face in her hair. Forget about the ban on student-teacher relations. This girl – this _woman_ – needed a friend.

"You are safe now… he will never touch you again. I swear it."

That bastard.

* * *

Just for the record, I promise you all will know exactly what happened to Hermione. Swear it. Hopefully by the end of the next chapter. For now, I'm just getting the hang of writing Severus. He's a tough one to get a grip on.

I appreciate the reviews I've gotten so far.


	3. Chapter 3

_Father had drunken himself into a stupor, a regular thing for him these days._

_ Ever since I had brought him back to reality from the memory charm I had placed him under, he had been… off. Not quite himself. Before I had sent my parents to Australia, he had been a gentle man. Harmless as a sloth. But that had been before._

_ Now… he was much more than harmless, now. Mother had not said anything about it, but I knew. I knew from the harried look on her face as she came out to make meals in the mornings. I knew from the way she tried to conceal her limp from me, and from the brave smile she plastered on her face, day in and day out._

_ Most of all, I knew from the screams. _

_ Mother was afraid, and father was different._

_ I told myself that he wouldn't, he couldn't hurt us. Either of us. _

_ I told myself that it wasn't my fault. That the memory charm had been for his own good. Protecting someone could never be a bad thing… could it?_

_ It was getting harder and harder to believe myself._

_ That night, he was in a particularly bad mood. _

_ "Monica!" He yelled at my mother. For all I had done to replace their memories, my parents still called each other by their new names. The names I had provided them when I had sent them to Australia._

_ For their own good. Always for their own good._

_ "MONICA!"_

_ I cringed. My mother brushed past me on her way down the hall to meet him, her head bowed and her eyes cast downward. _

_ She let her hand brush against mine. I tried to savor the warm touch, but it was gone even more quickly than it had come. _

_ Love you, Mum._

_ "Monica," I heard his low laugh from the living room. "Mmmm-onica. I know where you been. You been with the girl…"_

_ I didn't mean to eavesdrop. Not at first. When father was like this, I knew better than to be within earshot. But I couldn't help it. Mother had come around to the circumstances of my decision to wipe her memory, but my father… forgiveness was out of the question. Acceptance was what I strove for from him, but it seemed almost hopeless._

_ Father had never been fond of me being a witch to begin with. He had nearly attacked Professor McGonagall when she had come on my eleventh birthday to deliver my invitation to the school. He had only calmed down when she had restrained him by levitating him a few feet from the ground – hardly a good first experience with magic. After that initial encounter, he had been extremely wary of the wizarding world. When I had sent him to Australia, though, that had been the final straw._

_ Stupid, stupid…_

_ I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and moved closer to the door to hear them better. I knew how the conversation would turn out, but I needed to hear it to truly believe it. I put my ear to the wood._

_ "-a menace. Complete men-" he hiccupped, "menace."_

_ "She is not, Wendell." Mum. I could hear the scowl in her voice. Their relationship had been strained since I had returned their memories, more than I could begin to imagine. _

_ "She IS!" There was the scrape of wood against polished wood as he stood up, pushing the chair back. "De… destroyed our relaship. Totally. Mon'ca." _

_ I could hear him pleading with her, trying to be the good guy. _

_ My chest grew heavy with guilt. That my decision should forge such a rift between the three of us…_

_ "Wendell," her voice was icy, "you know that isn't true. Hermione is our daughter. No matter what."_

_ Tears welled up in my eyes. My mother loved me. She truly did. I ached for the same from my father._

_ "Ngh. Bitch." Father's voice was just as cold, if not colder. "You love her, but not me. Never me. Never Wendell. Always Hermy."_

_ "Wendell!"_

_ There was a crack of skin against skin as he slapped her, hard. Oh, Mum..._

_ "Bitch. WHERE ARE YOU, HERM-I-NEE! Come play. Come see your mummy now."_

_ Guilt turned to fear in the pit of my stomach. I heard his unsteady footsteps coming toward the door. Too late, I leaned back from the wood, trying to get away from this monster that was my father._

_ The door slammed open._

_ "There you are. Come see your mummy. My little bitches. Both of you, right where I can see you. Time to show how much we all love each other. So much LOVE."_

_ He grabbed my shoulder roughly and dragged me into the living room. I didn't say a word. How could I? He was my own father. I would never speak a word against him, no matter how unruly or violent he was. I knew he was a good man. Somewhere, hidden under all the guilt, confusion and anger, there was a good man._

_ I didn't try to stop him when he took my wand from me._

_ I did begin to worry, though, when he smirked, staggered, and snapped my wand in half. _

_ "Daddy, no – "_

"Little lion," I murmured, petting her hair gently, albeit awkwardly. "Brave little lion. Sleep, now."

And she slept.


End file.
